


Larkspur

by titania522



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Catching Fire, Fluff, pre quarter quell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 19:33:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1659947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titania522/pseuds/titania522
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everlark drabble set after the Victory-Tour, when Katniss' heel is still wounded from her fall out of the tree near the electrified fence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Larkspur

**Author's Note:**

> For bookpeetatbh.
> 
> I have another one with the whole stairs business but that will come later.
> 
> There is a great deal of mythological lore behind the larkspur that makes it so appropriate to Peeta.

 

*****

I can’t suppress a hiss of pain that results from shifting my injured foot, a sharp lance of agony that shoots up from my injured heel through my foot and across the back of my calf.  My mother has sentenced me to bed rest for a minimum of one week after I “fell” out of the tree near the electrified fence of District 12.  Yet now that the general soreness of the ordeal has worn off, I am already tired of my confinement.  A glance out the window at the dreary winter sky does nothing to improve my mood.  Sighing heavily, I browse my family’s plant book as I’ve done on and off all morning, studying the sketches of the plants that have meant the difference between life and death for Prim, mother and I.  There are so many plants I’ve learned about during my time in the training center and arena that I have yet to add.

“What have you got there?” I hear a familiar voice from the door.  My heart gives an involuntary lurch which I promptly, almost reflexively repress.

“Peeta.” I motion for him to sit next to me on the bed.  “My family’s plant book.  It’s been in my mother’s family forever.”  It’s what kept us alive after I’d recovered my hope.  I wonder how much of my vulnerability I can share – hadn’t he seen me starving, after all?  “We add new plants every time we find them and describe what they can do.  It helps to know which plants you can eat and which plants will kill you.” I smile to myself.

“That sounds important.” Peeta pulls the book onto his lap.  “Who does the drawings?”

“Whoever is making additions.” I point him to a detailed but roughly drawn picture of a larkspur, the purple color of the sketch popping out of the page.  “I added that flower.” I said, with some pride.  I read the inscription: “Hardy, late blooming spring plant, self-sustaining, symbol of the onset of Summer; can be poisonous to small animals.  I actually learned that last part during Training.  I can afford to color the drawings now.” My words fade at the end and I silently curse my stupidity, the inadvertent reminder of my past poverty.

Peeta glances over at me, the lines around his eyes softening, the effect of which distracts me momentarily from his words.  “You did a pretty good job. It’s very detailed.” He continues to turn the pages, reading and studying the illustrations.

“I want to add some more plants to the book.” I say as I peer over past him at the plants blossoming from the page.  “I need something to keep me busy until my foot gets better.”

He nods as he reads the inscriptions for the different entries; aloe, honeysuckle, cottonwood, dandelion.

Dandelion.

“Would you do the illustrations?” I blurt out, without preamble. How typical of me, launching a sentence of the sort with the minimal forethought but once I suggest it, I fervently hope he won’t say no.

Peeta’s taken aback, his hand hovering over a page.  “You want me to redo these?” he asks quizzically.

“No.  I mean for the new entries.”  I pinch my lip.  “As you can see, I’m not a great artist.”

Peeta considers me for a moment, an unreadable expression crossing over his features which has a strange effect on me.  It… touches me somehow, and makes everything for a brief moment seem possible.  He can do that, I realize.  Make impossible things possible.

“I’d like that.” He says quietly, his hand resuming its trajectory, turning the page of the book but now he is distracted and I sense his thoughts are no longer on the pages before him. “When would you like to start?”

I haven’t considered every last aspect of my proposal but I am seized with a sense of urgency, a powerful desire to keep him nearby.  “Today.” I say.  “Now…if you aren’t…I mean…”

Peeta eyes sweep my face, a flush of pink heat suffusing and engulfing the dust of freckles on his cheeks.  “I’m not busy at all.  I’ll just get my things.”  He hands the book almost reverently back to me.

“Okay.” I say and watch him leave, impatient for him to return.

 


End file.
